


Fevered Christmas

by Aurora_swan



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Christmas, Fluff, M/M, Parentlock, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-08
Updated: 2014-01-08
Packaged: 2018-01-07 23:54:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,118
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1125885
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aurora_swan/pseuds/Aurora_swan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When John wakes up in bed with a fevered two-year-old all his plans seems to be destroyed; and even if Sherlock's been looking for an excuse for weeks to get out of this celebration he can't let his son miss it. A fever can't stop them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fevered Christmas

The two-year-old boy might not understand the concept of christmas quite yet; but that wont stop his fathers from celebrating it. Two days they'd spent decorating the flat in red and green, to buy and cook all the food, to find the perfect three and to change the bulbs in the the christmas stars for the windows.

Even if Hamish doesn't understand he still seem happy. There's a lot of new things to look at now, the ornaments hanging from the branches are fun to play with and all the smells of fresh cookies and food makes his head go all fuzzy.

John looks at the boy from across the room. He can't wait until the morning to see the face on his son when all the presents rests under the tree and family comes to celebrate. Hamish may be a happy boy now but he will be even happier in the morning, John knows so.

"Handsome?" he asks and steps across the room, looks down at the boy who's still staring at the tree with big, green eyes. "Time for bed." He picks him up and the boy makes a small noise to disagree. He wants to stay in the room for a bit longer but John carries him away.

"No, daddy." he cried and squirms in his arms. "Pietty."

"The tree will be there tomorrow as well." John promises and presses a kiss to his temple when he notices something different. His son's skin is clammy and hot. Very hot; and John pulls back to get a good look of his face. Hamish is flushed and eyes shiny and he knows that something's wrong. "How're you feeling, love? Any ouch somewhere?" Hamish stares, wipes his eyes with the back of his hand and hums tiredly.

"Ouch?" he asks and starts to pull his ear. "Daddy ouch?"

"No." John grins and enters the bedroom where the smell of clementine lingers in the air from their earlier snack. "Does Hamish have an ouch?"

"No." Hamish giggles and presses his hands to John's mouth. "Daddy sleep?" He turns to see their bed where his pyjamas is neatly folded on the covers and his face turns bright at the sight. "Bat!" He flings his arms out and reached for the pyjama in black and yellow and John giggles as he puts him down on their bed.

"Yeah look!" he beams. "It's batman. D'you remember who gave it to you?"

"Gieg!" Hamish shouts as he bounce on his knees and pulls at his shirt. "Gieg!"

"Very good!" John smiles and helps him off with the jumper. "And guess who's coming tomorrow!"

"Gieg! Gieg!" Hamish continues like a chant and reaches his arms to the roof to let John pull the shirt over his head.

"Yes, he is." John laughs and dresses him. "And Molly, Tom, Mycroft and granny. Maybe even aunt Harry will come."

"Aiy!" Hamish smiles and as his fingers disappears into his messy curls to scratch his head. "Aiy Auson!"

"Watson." John spells out for him and pulls the cover to tuck his son in. "Can you say that? Watson?" Hamish stares, possibly not amused with being corrected and a small pout appears. "Okay." John giggles and hooks his hands under his arms to toss him back on the mattress and Hamish laughs hysterically as he lands with a bounce. "Can you say christmas? Christmas?"

"Cismas." Hamish repeats proudly and claps his hands together.

"Very good!" John chimes and does the same which only makes Hamish prouder. "Yea!"

"Yeai!" Hamish shouts and snuggles into the pillow while John tucks the cover around him. Then he pats the space beside him and looks at John. "Daddy."

"Yes. I'll sleep, too. Just a moment, okay?"

"Daddy!" Hamish repeats and continues to pat the bed. "Daddy." How can John possibly ignore such a wonderful face? Those green eyes are twinkling and John presses a kiss to his nose as he lays down beside him. Looking very pleased, Hamish crawls close and sneaks a hand into John's short hair to twin some of his strands. "Tha."

"There." John mimics and kisses his his head, once again feeling the heat.

"Dad?" the boy requires and furrows his brow. Yes, Sherlock is missing and John sighs angrily which Hamish notices. Two hours had passed since the hour Sherlock promised he would be home by, and John is not surprised.

"He'll be home soon, okay." he promises and rubs a hand over his back, traces his spine with his fingers and notices the cold sweat already soaking the black shirt with a big yellow logo on the front with the silhouette of a bat. "Dad's at the lab. Shall we call him?" Hamish nods eagerly at that and sits up in the bed, clapping his hands in approval.

"Dad! Dad!" With that John picks up his phone and dials his boyfriend while his son's pulling his arm. Talking on the phone is the most fun thing he knows; especially if it's one of his fathers on the line and right now he can't wait to hear Sherlock's voice. "Dad!"

"Yes, I'm calling him." John giggled and held the phone to his ear despite Hamish's hard pulling. "Wait a moment, alright."

"Dad! Dad!" Hamish continues and leans in close to hear the signals. Suddenly there's a click and a dark voice rumbled on the other side.

"Hello, love." John smiles and runs a hand through Hamish's dark curls. "Guess what."

"I'm late, I know." Sherlock sighs and John hears the noise of petri dishes and beakers rattle over the phone. "I just put on my coat."

"Good." John beams as Hamish starts to whine. "And your son is eager to talk to you." Hamish tares the phone out of his hand and hold it up to his ear.

"Dad!" he chimes and throws himself back on the pillow, pats the space on his left side where his father's missing and gives a small pout. "Dad. 'Ere."

"Hello, handsome." Sherlock murmurs, the boy smiles and starts to giggle at the sound of his voice. "I'm on my way home now. I'll be in bed soon, promise."

"Now." Hamish orders and pulls a face in disappointment. "Dad 'ere now."

"On my way." Sherlock snickers as John takes the phone back and holds it to his ear.

"Sherlock." he says and hold the back of his hand to Hamish forehead. "I might be wrong, but Hamish may be coming down with a fever." A small hum is all he gets in response from his boyfriend and John sighs. "He's warm but he doesn't seem affected."

"What? Are we cancelling tomorrow?" Sherlock asks hopefully which makes John chuckle.

"No, we're not. Even if his all cranky and feverish tomorrow people'll still come, Sherlock. You're not getting out of this."

"I just don't understand the concept of celebrating some holiday for his sake when he wont remember it."

"I know he won't but we will." John says sternly and sees how Hamish's eyes slowly starts to slip closed, even though he fights it doesn't seem like he will win. "I love christmas and you know that. Tomorrow will be as wonderful as you make it." With a groan that vibrates in his ear John knows that he's won and a smile twitches the corner of his mouth. "And Hamish will love it even if he might not understand the concept."  
"I know." Sherlock sighs. "I'll be home in five."

"Make that three."

 

 

 

 

 

John's phone wakes them up and he nearly panics when he realise what time this is. The morning has nearly passed and he flings himself out of bed to get to work with everything that needs to be ready in three hours. He's two hours off schedule and he nearly cries when he remembers all the things that needs to be done.

"Sherlock?" he asks and turned back to the bed to find it empty, except the tiny form still lying under the cover. Hamish is still sleeping, and John frowns. That boy never sleeps this much. Food quickly forgotten he kneels on the bedside and wraps a warm hand around the boy's back. "Hamish, baby? It's time to wake up." The boy stirs, lets out a mewling sound of discomfort and as he cracks an eye open his father can see them glittering in fever. The raven curls are soaked with sweat and before John has time to take it whole in tears rolls down the boy's flushed cheek. The first cry is heartbreaking and John scopes him up in his arms and feels the heat burning inside him.

"Oh, love." he cries and gathers the small blanket from the end of the bed to drape around his son's shoulders. "I'm so sorry." Arms wraps around his neck and Hamish holds onto him with weak hands while tears soaks his shoulder.

"Ouch!" Hamish belts and starts to pull his ear like he always do when something is bothering him.

"Where's the ouch, baby? How daddy." Hamish pulls back to show him when a look of terror hits his eyes, tears stop for a moment and John waits for what's about to happen next. But his son doesn't know how to explain and finally another cry is heard.

"Ouch!" he repeats, louder this time and John pulls him a little closer.

"Everywhere?" he asks and places a hand on his head. "From here.." he sweeps his hand all over his little body, over his bum and down his legs until he reaches his little toes. "..to here?" Hamish nods and John sighs. "Oh, love. Let's see if we can do something about that."

He stands up and wraps Hamish in the big blanket, lets him rest his weary head to his shoulder and the frail cries turns into soft, tired sobs on his shoulder while John slowly accepts that this day is ruined. It's not Hamish's fault, no, but just the thought of that his boy won't get a chance to see what christmas is all about hurts more than the fact that John himself won't be able to celebrate it. Sherlock would be thrilled as John had to call everyone to cancel, this would probably be a bigger gift for him than anything else.

But that thought quickly changes as he enters the kitchen. The smell of boozy mince pies and different kinds of meat lingers in the air and John sweeps his eyes across the table to see everything of his boyfriends creations. Potatoes stands ready to be roasted, salads have been made and the turkey looks absolutely perfect. He nearly cried at the sight and he looks up at his boyfriend, whom at the moment is making french toast by the stove, with big eyes.

"Sherlock." he breathes and Sherlock turns on his heals.

"I noticed that Hamish wasn't feeling well so I figured that you wouldn't be able to take care of all this and at the same time care for him so I decided I..." He takes a deep breath and nods for all of the things on the table. "Well. I know how much it means to you and... Hamish might be able to enjoy it even if he's sick."

John's knees goes weak by this and he stumbled across the floor to give his Sherlock a one armed hug. A laugh of happiness slips his lips as he pressed them to Sherlock's and the detective swallows it while carding long fingers through Hamish's hair.

"Good morning, handsome." he whispers and bows his head to press a kiss to his burning cheek; Hamish gives another troubled whine and pushes him away with a weak arm. "Oh, someone needs a dummy." He chuckles as he turns to the cupboard above the sink where some of the boy's colourful dummies are stored and Hamish knows very well they're there.

"Blue." he whines and pulls his ear again. "Gimme." Sherlock plops the pacifier into his mouth and Hamish sucks away while his eyelids slowly droops again; head lolls back onto John's shoulder and he tucks himself into place to get some more sleep.

"He's gonna be cranky." John chuckles and looks up on Sherlock with a disappointed smile.

"Well." Sherlock shrugs and rubs his son's back. "It'll be a christmas to remember then."

John laughs.

 

 

 

Hamish lays like a rag doll on the the sofa; head propped up on a pillow, fingers twinning his curls and dummy sometimes bobbing over his mouth as he remembers that he has it. At the moment he's watching some of the movies BBC is airing and the flashing colours and moving pictures keeps him from thinking about his aching loins and pounding head.

"Hamish?" John murmurs and pads over with a sippy cup filled with cold water. "I want you to drink something, okay?" Hamish mood turns from relaxed to annoyed in no time and he gives a small grunt before turning his head to the side. "It'll make you feel a little better." But Hamish only turns grumpier and rolls over on his stomach to protest to anything his father's suggesting. John sighs and places the cup on the table. "I'm leaving it there in case you get thirsty." And just because of that little gesture Hamish starts to cry again and he slips down from the sofa, grabs the cup while tears flows down his cheeks, dummy drops to the floor and he pushed the cup back into John's hands. He is not amused.

"Handsome?" John sighs as Hamish stomps the floor in protest; he wants the cup out of his sight and quickly. "Okay! I'm taking it away." With a troubled sigh he slips back into the kitchen, hides the cup on the counter and walks back into the kitchen where Hamish stands still on the floor, cries right out while rubbing his eyes. John nearly breaks by the sight and he scopes him up.

"Baby." he quakes and lets his son cry out to his shoulder. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have disturbed you." He picks up the dummy from the floor, sucks it clean before popping it into Hamish's mouth again. "I just want to make you better, handsome."

Hamish cries for at least an half an hour after that, until he's to tired to make loud noises, and settles with making soft grunts muffled by John's shoulder.

"Has he eaten?" a dark voice asks and John turns to the kitchen where Sherlock's eyeing them.

"No." John sighs and puts the boy back on the sofa; once again he slumps into a pile of jelly and he stares blankly at the telly with shiny eyes. "I don't know what to do. He just had a tantrum because of water. Don't dare to imagine what a sandwich might do." He places his hand to his forehead again and feel the terrible heat. "Oh, sweetie." He plops down beside him and rubs his hands wherever he can reach. "Maybe dad could get the thermometer so we can have a look at you more properly." Sherlock sneaked off and John bowed down to press a kiss to his cheek; only to make Hamish push him away with a chubby hand and a whine. "Sorry."

Sherlock returns with the small thermometer in his hand a lowers himself to the armrest, runs a hand over the messy locks as John takes the device from him. It gives a beep and Hamish doesn't make a sound when he slips it into his armpit.

"Good boy." Sherlock murmurs and circles his ear with a slender finger.

"39.2." John sighs as he studies the display. "If he doesn't eat or drink something during the next hour we need to take a trip to the E&R." Sherlock nibbles his bottom lip, clearly in deep thought when his sigh suddenly clears. He rushed into the kitchen and comes back with the bright coloured sippy cup in his hand which makes Hamish squirm on the sofa.

"Sherlock." John groans as the cries starts again but the detective is not taking his eyes off the boy that cries angrily at the sight.

"No." Sherlock says sternly and takes a good sip. "This belongs to me now." That only makes Hamish cry louder and he sits up on the sofa, slides down on the floor and huddles over to his father. He grabs into his leg and pulls hard to get his cup. "You heard me. You refused it." Hamish screams even louder and punches his little fist to Sherlock's leg as he sees him take another sip.

On the other side of the room John smiles; boyfriend might be a right out git but he sure is clever. Sherlock picks him up from the floor and Hamish pulls the cup from his hand and brings it to his mouth, eyes his father and smiled around the beak in victory. He has the cup, even though Sherlock wanted it, he won and he takes a mouthful of water to celebrate that. It's a relief to his parents.

"Good boy." Sherlock chuckles and rocks him back and forth while Hamish drinks all of the cold water. "That's satisfying? Isn't it" A hand disappears into Sherlock's curls and the chubby fingers twists his curls lovingly. "Just what you needed."

 

 

 

People starts to arrive like on schedule and Sherlock sits in the back if the room with a Hamish whom refuses to greet the guests. No one blames him, though. He's two years old and has a fever, no one dares to complain. Greg manages to make him giggle though; he just needs to show his face and the boy laughs for no reason. Greg's his favourite amongst all of their friends but today that man is not allowed to touch him.

At the moment he's snacking on some slices of cucumber and a yogurt and half his face was covered in the creamy goo; he always messed more than ate. But something had his attention by now, something that took his mind off the pain and it was laying under the beautiful tree. Lots and lots of presents; wrapped in colourful papers and strings and he couldn't wait to put his sticky fingers on them.

"Look at that." Sherlock murmurs in his ear while wiping his mouth. "More than half of them are for you." Hamish giggled without really knowing what to and that made Sherlock smile even wider. "You're gonna get duplo from Greg, a bathrobe from Mrs Hudson, toy cars from Molly and even an ice cream maker, god knows why."

"Sherlock." John says with a sneer as he served him some tea. "Don't do that. He might not be able to understand but someone might get offended." But all the detective did was to snicker and Hamish joined him with a tired giggle. "Oh, and look at you." John took the napkin lying under the plate to wipe his face. "A sticky little boy, aren't you?" With a loud squeal the boy pulls back and tries to push John's hand away from his face.

"We need to clean you up a bit." Sherlock giggled and grabbed his little arms to get them out of the way. "You can't get all our guests dirty."

 

 

 

 

Hamish took up John's chair by lying like a rag doll once more, his head rested on the armrest and he's weakly hugging his plush squid while twinning one of its eight arms. His dummy was bobbing and his shiny eyes were concentrated on the christmas episode of Shrek.

"Hay?" a voice sings and someone steps between him and the telly. "Look what I've got." He looks up at the lady with long, brown hair; dressed in a silky black dress with a glittering pendant that he suddenly wanted to latch out for. Molly kneels beside him and reaches out a small bowl with crackers. "And it's all for you."

The boy moans and pulls his ear, stares at the woman whose smile looks warm and nice. A cold hand is placed on his forehead and he lets out a small whimper.

"John?" Molly calls out and lets the boy press her hand away. "I think he's getting warmer again." The laughter in the kitchen dies for the moment and Hamish moans and rolls over on his side, away from Molly and closer to the fire. His father kneels beside the chair and looks at him with a furrowed brow.

"Handsome?" he asks and sees his son's eyelids droop. "D'you wanna go to bed for a while?" He shakes his head and John caressed his cheek to feel the heat when Hamish suddenly lift his heavy arms and reaches for him. John smiles and gathers him in his arms and the boy tucks his head to where neck meets shoulder, his father sighs when he realises how warm he actually is. "Oh, poor thing. Lets get you some medicine, okay."

"Da.." the boy mumbles and draws pattern on John's neck with wee fingers.

"You want daddy to help you?" Hamish nods and lets his arm fall slack over John's shoulder. He's to tired to do much more right now. John reenters the kitchen and sees the group of people talking and sipping their mould wine. "Sherlock?" The detective looks up from Greg's face, cheeks coloured by the small amount of alcohol that's entered his system. "Could you give him some paracetamol? The bottle's in the cupboard in the bathroom." Sherlock frowns.

"Why can't you?" he asks and John giggles.

"I won't do right now." he smiles as he feels the boy stir in his arms.

"Da?" he questions and turns his head a bit to search the room for the source of the dark voice. With a groan, Sherlock rises from his seat and rounds the table.

"Come here." he purrs and the boy slides over in his arms and clings close to his chest. "You are very warm, handsome. You're nearly burning up." Hamish doesn't understand but there's a playful tone in his voice that makes him giggle and Sherlock joins him as he makes way to the bathroom. "Amused, are we?" He turns on the lights and Hamish groans in pain. "Well, let's see how happy you are when I've forced some strawberry paracetamol into your mouth." Hamish giggles unknowingly and Sherlock searches the shelfs after the bottle while keeping up the small talk. "Let's see. Most of these things are poisonous for someone as small as you so don't you ever dare to experiment with anything in here. Now, where's the witch brew?" He pulls out a brown, glass bottle with a colourful label and cheers in triumph. "Excellent!"

Hamish's eyes widens as he sees the bottle and let's out a bothered squeal before burying his face to his shoulder.

"Come now." Sherlock says with his dark voice as he sways back and forth. "I know you don't like it but if you do this for dad I'll let you brush your teeth." That catches Hamish's attention. There's nothing he loves more than brushing his teeth.

"Bush." he slurs and looks at Sherlock with tired eyes.

"Yes. Brush. But you have to take some medicine first. It's a compromise." his father explains and and settles him down on the changing table. The boy rubs his eye while pointed at the toothbrush resting on the shelf beneath the mirror.

"Bush."

"After this." Sherlock says and hold out the little shot of liquid paracetamol. "Then brush." Hamish whines and shakes his head.

"No." But Sherlock holds the cup and gives him a stern look. "No."

"Then no brush." he shrugs and takes the cup back when Hamish let's out an angry cry and tears forms in his glossy eyes. "Then do as daddy says. Medicine and then you can have the brush." With slow movements he brings the small cup to the boy's quivering lip while caressing his curls. Hamish yields and with tears rolling down his cheeks he swallows the shot of pure garbage because he really enjoys to brush his teeth.

"Good man." Sherlock praises as Hamish swallows. "Very good." The boy sobs and rubs his eye again.

"Bush." he whimpers and his father reaches for the tiny tooth brush with a picture of some famous character from some tv-show. There's no point filling it with paste since it isn't what Hamish's after. What he really likes is sucking the water out if the bristles. Sherlock runs it under the tap and the boy brings it to his mouth and suckles it like one of his dummies.

"Moe." he orders ten seconds later and gives it back and once again his father runs it under the tap.

"Last one." he informs and picks him up from the counter to bring him over to the mirror. Without any complaints Hamish puts back the brush on the shelf, he would be furious if Sherlock had done it and neither of his parents know why. It's just one of those things you need to learn about your children, Sherlock believes and pops the dummy into his mouth again.

"Marvellous." he chimes as they walk out the door. "You're getting easier to handle every day." The boy sighs and closes his eyes as he rests his weary head to his shoulder. "Take a nap, handsome. Then we'll open some presents. I'm sure theres a very nice bathrobe in one of them for you to cuddle in later."

 

 

 

 

Sure enough, there is. A very soft bathrobe in dark green it to be found under the tree and John wraps it over the boy who sits between his legs, half asleep.

"Look at that." John beams and strokes the fabric over his cheeks. "Cozy." Hamish just blinks and Sherlock's sure he can see him rolling his eyes.

"I found it in that new store down the street." mrs Hudson begins and points in the wrong direction. "They have the prettiest clothes for children between newborn to seven. I just couldn't walk passed them without purchasing something. I mean we need to support the smaller stores around here or all there's left are the malls, and an old woman like me can hardly walk through there. Certainly not me, with my hip and all." Greg nods, not quite sure why Mrs Hudson feels the need to tell him this but polite, as he always is, he nods a little more and acts interested.

"Thank you, Mrs Hudson." John smiles. "It's great. He grew out his last one a couple of weeks ago." Hamish sighs and Sherlock's sure it's on his behalf. The detective's leaned it's rude to express things like that in company, but for a two-year-old no one cares.

"Gieg." Hamish slurs around his dummy and reaches out for his uncle who turned away from the woman. He lights up when he realises that the small boy wants him.

"Well, come here then." he sings and fishes him up from John's lap. It's the first time tonight that Hamish has let him touch him and Greg hugs him tight when he's finally allowed. "'Ello lad. Not feeling well, are we?" The boy hums and wraps his arms around his neck. His uncle pressed a kiss to his burning temple and rubs his back. "You poor thing. Not that fun to be under the weather at a day like this." Hamish nods and closes his eyes.

"If he falls asleep, he falls asleep." John smiles and reaches for yet another gift for Hamish. "I think he lost interest before we even started." Molly hums in agreement while fondly staring at Greg.

"Don't worry. It's been a wonderful evening. And life with kids are always hard to predict." John chuckles and tares the paper on yet another set of clothes.

"I wish these presents were as well." Sherlock whispers from John's chair while tapping his fingers to his jaw.

"Shut up, Sherlock." John barks and Hamish laughs into Greg's neck.

"Good boy." Greg praises and pulls a face that reminds Sherlock of a dog owner. "Laugh at daddy. He deserves it." The boy continues to giggle while twinning his own curls and he nurses the dummy loudly.

John and Sherlock opens the rest of the gifts for their uninterested son, thanks and compliments the wonderful things they've given little Hamish who doesn't even pay attention to the toys and suddenly they get to the smaller gift which are for the older people in the room. Mrs Hudson had, as always, been idle and not spared any expense and John feels horrible as he opens the box containing two, very shiny cufflinks.

"Oh, christ." he huffs and tosses her a surprised laugh which she's too busy to return, her face is nearly buried to Greg's shoulder were little Hamish fights to keep his eyes open. "Mrs Hudson, you..."

"John." Sherlock interrupts and uncrosses his legs. He's clearly not amused with this convention and John redirects his smile to his bothered boyfriend. The blue green eyes are begging for an excuse, anything that can make him escape and John giggles. He's never going to give him one.

"For you." he says and tosses the small box through the room which Sherlock gracefully catches without looking. His jaws are clenching as he tares the paper and when he reaches it's insides he raises and eyebrow and acts surprised.

"Oh." he mocks and looks up with a deranges smile. "Cufflinks..."

"I thought it would be nice if you actually matched each other." mrs Hudson beams with blushing cheeks and Sherlock can't escape the grin bubbling up his throat.

"Very imaginative, Mrs Hudson." he sighed and closed the box. "Better than last year when you knitted us matching scarfs."

"I knew you would like it." the woman giggles and John laughs were he sits amongst colourful wrapping papers and strings. Marvellous Mrs Hudson. The iron lady that never let Sherlock irony break her. Not even at christmas.

"Very nice." he said and looked up at Molly who squeezed Tom's hand with white knuckles. "Coffee perhaps? You've um..."

"Fruitcake." Molly blurts out. "I um... I - We brought fruitcake." She squirms beside Tom and reminds John of a nervous border collie and he'll probably never understand why she's always so shaken at their flat.

"Yeah." John snickers. "That's what I referred to." He stands up and straightens his clothes before taking another look at his son who's slowly falling asleep in Greg's arms. "Maybe we should put the little one to bed as well." He looks up at his boyfriend whose face breaks in two by his own yawn and John giggles. "Or possible both of them. Sherlock?" The detective croaks and rubs his eye before looking up on John again, curls out of order and shirt wrinkled. "Maybe we should put Hamish to bed."

"Ah." Sherlock hummed and got up from his chair. "Yes."

He leant down and Greg passed over the boy very carefully so his head would fall. He wraps his arms around him and the little boy whimpers unhappily as he was shifted but settles quickly to Sherlock's shoulder as he recognises his scent.

"There we go." the detective whispers and places his lips to his burning temple, strides away through the kitchen and into the bedroom where he stops on the middle of the floor. Hamish grabs a handful of hair as he starts to sway, holds on with his tiny hands as Sherlock waltzes over to the bed. The voice penetrates the air and vibrates through them both as he hums a simple melody and Hamish cracks an eye open to look up at his father who suddenly takes a spin with him. The boy giggles tiredly and pulls his father with him as he's placed on the bed.

His father smiles as he stands on all four above him on the mattress, eyes focused on him as he bowes down and places a kiss on his forehead.

"Merry christmas, handsome." he whispers. "I might not enjoy it. But I hope you will." Hamish hums happily and cups his cheeks, his hands are clammy and cold and Sherlock places his own over the left one. "Maybe I'll grow into it as well one day."

"Daddy." Hamish smiles and pushes him away. "Jams."

"Yes." Sherlock murmurs. "I'll get your pyjamas."

The two piece pyjamas is folded over the back of the chair and Sherlock shakes his head as he sees the bats creating a pattern over the yellow trousers. He has no idea why Greg decided to buy this and as he pulls the black shirt with yellow letters over Hamish's head he still has to admit that it makes his son look very playful. Children are probably supposed to be dressed in this; comic book - movie and music inspired things.

Hamish yawns and rubs his eye before a deep wrinkle appears between them. He looks up at Sherlock with a bothered face that his father quickly links with lack of intimacy and he picks him up before the boy even has time to make a sound. With a happy hum Hamish buries his face to the nape of his neck and Sherlock finds his excuse to leave the pleasantries in the sitting room.

Hamish needs him.

Without saying a word he crawls under the cover, Hamish pressed to his chest and still clothed. He couldn't care less though; the room his cold and his trousers and dress shirt does something about that, so does the fevered boy on his chest but that isn't such a good thing.

"Let's sleep." he murmurs and sink deep into the pillow. Hamish agrees and finds his grip in Sherlock's curls.

 

 

 

That' how John finds them, Hamish wrapped his Sherlock's arms and both of them slightly snoring. He gave them a huge smile even though he knew he wasn't seen.

"Look at my babies." he whispers and sneaks over to the bed to press a kiss to Sherlock's brow. The detective sighs and cracks an eye open, sees John standing over him with his sappy smile and with a huge huff he cracks open the other one.

"Sneaking up on me, John?" he asked and tightens his embrace around his feverish son.

"Not more than usual." the doctor chuckles and cards his fingers through Hamish's sweaty curls. "How's he doing?" As on cue the boy makes a small sound and crawls closer to Sherlock's neck, pulls his shirt and hums in content.

"Better, I would guess." Sherlock answers and crocks his head to get a look of him. "He's seems to be happier." He turns to John again and blinks. "So, the others..."

"They're gone." John smiles and crawls down beside him, fully dressed and smelling of coffee and cake. Sherlock breaths it in as he buries his nose in his short hair; he smiles. Wonderful John.

"Can't believe we've had him for two years." John whispers as he rests his head on Sherlock's shoulder, nose touching Hamish's and arms wrapped around them both. "Remember when we picked him up? He wasn't bigger than a loaf of bread."

"And screamed like a maniac." Sherlock slipped in, making John giggle. "Only the first day, thankfully."

"He wasn't used to us."

"Now he knows little less." Sherlock observes his sleeping son with a soft smile and rubs his tiny fingers. "I'm glad you talked me into this."

"Well there's a confession I've been waiting for." John says with a chuckle and joins his boyfriend's hand on the boy's back. "But you seemed quite keen when you saw the sonogram for the first time."

"I was." Sherlock agrees with a nod and pulls John a little closer. They gaze upon their son during along silence, played with his curls, fingers and cuddles him greatly. He is a beautiful boy. There's no doubt about that, and John will never forget the time Sherlock for the first time laid his eyes upon him. He'd never looked so scared and eager at the same time.

"Marry me." John said suddenly and Sherlock tenses under him.

"What?"

"You heard me."

Sherlock swallows thickly and frowns. He'd not expected this.

"It's just a piece of paper." he said uncertainly and squeezes John's arm just to make sure he'd not hurting him with those words; but the next second John lets out a small laugh.

"Then will you be on that piece of paper with me?" he asks and looks up at him with big blue eyes that glitters with anticipation and happiness. How can he refuse.

"Yes." he answers and feels his face being split in two by his broad smile. "Why not?"


End file.
